


The Day Before

by Ashtray_Heart



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: (Yes that mouse.), Athelstan has a mouse, Athelstan tries to comfort him, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Even more things that go unsaid, Fluff and Angst, Gap Filler, Hand Jobs, He always did, M/M, Ragnar's secret weighs heavy on his mind, lots of talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 17:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtray_Heart/pseuds/Ashtray_Heart
Summary: The day before he died, they slept together. Ragnar came to his place in the middle of the night; his eyes were wild and he faintly reeked of ale and silent rage, and for once, Athelstan did not ask questions.





	The Day Before

The day before he died, they slept together. Ragnar came to his place in the middle of the night; his eyes were wild and he faintly reeked of ale and silent rage, and for once, Athelstan did not ask questions, just made space for him on the bed without speaking a word. As Ragnar slipped beside him, burying his head into the nape of Athelstan's neck, he oddly resembled a hurt child seeking the comfort of his mother--- not a warrior. Not a king. Athelstan has never seen him like this before, not even when Lagertha left him, and it scared him.

“Is there something you wish to tell me?” he spoke up at last, when the silence became unbearable.

Ragnar snorted, his breath hot on the other man's skin. 

_“No.”_

“Clearly something happened.” 

“Oh? What gave it away?”

Athelstan sighed. He propped himself up on his elbow and turned to face him. Ragnar looked up at him, his mouth twisted into a wry smile that was not a smile at all.

“There is no need to talk to me like that. I just wanted you to know that if you want to—-”

“What I do want right now is peace and quiet,” Ragnar cut in impatiently.

 _“Shut up.”_ He could tell Ragnar was slightly surprised by his choice of words and the tone he used. He was, too. “Please, Ragnar,” he added, embarrassed. “Do not interrupt.”

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“Shut up.” He savoured the words. “I like how the words fall from your mouth.”

Athelstan's face flushed with frustration.

“Oh, come here.” Ragnar's features softened as he tried to pull his lover into a kiss, but to his surprise, the younger man pulled away from him.

“No. You're making me worried.” There was a note of apprehension in his voice that caught Ragnar off-guard. He deserved to know, of course. The settlement--- a token of peace and friendship, Ragnar thought bitterly--- was not his idea, originally, but he helped to make it come true. He was there, from the very beginning, and Ragnar knew that the success made the other man as much happy as it made him. 

And then he realized that he could not bear to disappoint him. Not now. Not yet. It would crush him.

“I know,” he said at last, helplessly. “And I'm sorry.”

“Let me help you.”

“You're helping now.” The words were out before he could think about it twice, and pathetic as it is, he meant it. He had never really thought about it that way before, but he always felt more relaxed when Athelstan was around. More at peace with himself. Even now that life seemed to be an endless series of being forced to make bad decisions and take the consequences, the younger man's presence calmed him down.

Athelstan, however, searched his gaze in disbelief. 

“No, really, you are,” Ragnar smiled, reacing out a hand to touch his face. “I'm sorry but I'm not nearly ready to have this conversation right now.”

“Something to do with...your marriage?” Athelstan asked, carefully.

“Not everything is about Aslaug, curiously,” Ragnar said, voice dry.

 _No, my love. It's all about you, it has always been,_ Athelstan wanted to say.

“Do you mean to tell me there's nothing I can do?” he said instead.

“Well, you could kiss me for a start.”

“Be serious.”

Ragnar shrugged, a helpless grin playing on his mouth. And then Athelstan's lips were on his, and his palm on his chest, just above his heart, and it was so easy to loosen his lover's braid and bury his fingers into the mane of black curls, making him moan softly against his mouth.

“Athelstan,” Ragnar called as they parted, both of them breathing heavely.

“Yes?”

“You do speak the language of the Franks, yes?”

Athelstan raised his eyebrow.

“Not to the extent I've spoken your language when I got here, no, but I understand it quite well. Why?”

Ragnar's fingers traced the back of his lover's neck.

“Because I'd like you to meet someone tomorrow.” He sounded excited, hopeful even, his lips curling into a smile. A real one, rarely to be seen these day.

“Oh. Then I suppose soon we shall find out.”

“What do you think it is like? Their language. Tell me.” Again he said it with the tone of someone who has gotten used to give orders, but with a child's curiosity. Then, he has always been a man of contradictions. Never easy to interpret.

Athelstan contemplated. “Well...I've always thought it sounded beautiful to listen to, if that is what you mean. Nothing like any other language I've ever heard.”

“Say something.”

“Really?” Athelstan coloured a little.

“Please.”

The younger man bit on his bottom lip; and then grinned, and leant closer. “Je veux faire l'amour avec toi,” he breathed into his ear.

“That doesn't sound like a language at all,” Ragnar muttered, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “What's so amusing? What does it mean?”

Athelstan's smile grew wider, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I said 'I would like to make love with you'.” He reached between them and slipped his hand beneath the other man's already bulging breeches, curling his fingers around the length of him. To his amusement a hiss escaped Ragnar's lips, and his hips bucked up against Athelstan of their own accord. “Not that you could tell if I lied.”

“I think you've made your point very clear,” Ragnar managed in between gasps, his voice emerging hoarse as Athelstan continued fisting him underneath the fabric of his undergarments, slow, lazy and tantalizing. “What would your Lord say if he knew that the first thing that came to your mind in another language is having sex?”

Even with his fingers around another man's cock, Athelstan had the grace to blush.“I can only hope he forgives my trespasses.”

Ragnar chortled curtly. “I liked how you said 'making love.' Never heard anyone using that phrase before.”

“Don't you think you're talking too much?” 

“What is the use in being king if I cannot talk as much as I want?”

He let a frustrated grunt when the other man removed his hand and stopped touching him, quickly followed by a low, desperate sound as Athelstan straddled his lap and leant in to kiss him.

“Patience is a virtue,” he breathed into his mouth, lips curled into a smirk. 

“I had waited for you for years, I _am_ a patient man. Except when you're---” Athelstan gave a roll of hips that made both of them groan. “Except when you're doing that, yes.”

They soon found the familiar rhythym and angle that felt good, but it was not enough.

“How would you like it today?” Athelstan asked, slightly out of breath; his face flushed, and a thin layer of sweat covering his skin. 

Ragnar drank in the sight.

“Whatever you want,” he panted. “I'm at your disposal.”

“Well, I actually did have something in mind."

Ragnar grinned, feeling himself hardening even more. "Do you think about _making love to me_ often, Athelstan?"

Athelstan bit on his lip and smiled. 

"From time to time."

He loosened the laces on Ragnar's breeches and began pulling them off, altough he stopped halfway as though he did not have the patience to undress him completely. He secured his grip on Ragnar's hips, his head inches away from the evidence of his lover's arousal, hard for him, twitching awkwardly in excitement for what was to come.

Athelstan chuckled and glanced up at his partner; their eyes interlocked.

Athelstan's breath was hot on Ragnar's erection, and then, just like that, his lips closed around the head. 

Ragnar hissed and let himself fall back on bed, his hips lifting involuntarily in Athelstan's grip, seeking more friction. His fingers slid into the younger man's dark curls, and admittedly, his words ceased to have any kind of coherency after that, apart from cursing and swearing.

The first time he did it with his mouth was one of the strangest experiences Athelstan had ever had. And not because he never imagined himself doing such things to anyone---which he did not---it was because he never imagined Ragnar giving up control like that. He gave himself to Athelstan like it was the most natural thing in the world---his soul and mind, and his body---when really, Athelstan could not stop wondering what did he do to deserve his love.

The sight of him sprawled out on the bed like that, exposed, was almost enough to send Athelstan over the edge. Has it really been so long since they've been intimate? Could it have been?

He licked from the tip to the base and back up, only stopping to taste the precome collecting on the tip before taking the same path again.

“Athelstan,” Ragnar warned when he felt his release coming near, but Athelstan was determined to finish what he had started. He hadn't let go, not even when Ragnar tensed and the grip on his hair tightened. And when the time came, he swallowed it all down.

“That was---really good,” Ragnar panted. “Really good.” His breathing evened, and his fingers brushed through Athelstan's curls, ever so gently, as if a silent apology. “Gods. What have I done to deserve it?”

“I could be asking the same, but does it matter? I love you, regardless of what you do. Or what you don't do.” Athelstan's voice came out hoarse. It was not the first time he said it, but it was the last. Smiling, he placed a feather-like kiss to the base of his lover's spent cock. The intimacy of the gesture made Ragnar shiver. “And truth be told, it's hard to see you troubled at the time.” Curling up beside Ragnar he initiated a kiss, and reached for himself. “I preferred...” he paused as if he was not sure if he should continue or not. “I know it's selfish to say that but I preferred when it was just you, Lagertha, the children and the farm. You...all of you...I mean, we were very happy.”

Ragnar looked very serious briefly---Athelstan already regretted saying that--- and then he gave a little, sad smile. “Yes. Yes, me too.” He put his hand on his lover's arm and kissed him. “Let me finish you.”

Athelstan swallowed. “I am already---”

“I don't care. I like touching you. Touching you, kissing you, waking up next to you. And I'm sick of pretending I don't.” He gently drew Athelstan's hand away and replaced it with his own, tracing the line from below the other man's balls up to the head.

“Oh. Ragnar, please, I can't---”

Whatever Athelstan wanted to say remained stuck in his throat as Ragnar's fingers wrapped around his arousal, moving back and forth on the shaft. They kissed long, sweet and slow, Ragnar stroking him into completion. 

“You might want to consider a bath,” he grinned, shortly afterwards, breaking the silence that fell upon them. The room smelled heavely of their love-making. Athelstan was settled on his chest, legs tangled with his, already on the verge of sleeping. “It may does not seem important at the moment, but it will, in the morning, trust me. I've been there.”

The younger man muffled something into his chest that could have easily approval or quite the opposite but did not move.

“Oh, come on,” Ragnar spanked him lightly on the ass. “You'll thank me later.”

Athelstan groaned and climbed off him. He stumbled out of bed and made for the bucket at the other side of the room, aware of Ragnar's gaze following him. Wetting a pair of rags in the water, he quickly slid out of his breeches and began wiping himself clean. 

And then he heard a soft chuckle from behind him. 

“Seriously? Will you stop staring?” 

“No. I quite enjoy the view.”

Athelstan looked over his shoulder. The other man was propped on his elbow, his lips curled into a lazy smile.

“What? I don't get to see you naked very often.” He tilted his head to the side, and then groaned, letting his head fall back to the pillows. “Why do you have to always wear something for sleeping?”

“It makes me uncomfortable not to,” Athelstan said, pulling on another pair of trousers. “Besides it's freezing cold.”

“I can always warm you up.”

“You need to leave early.” He did not say it with an accusing tone---he never did---, and yet, it left lots of things unsaid. 

Ragnar's eyes lingered on the other man's bare torso, following him as he walked up to the bed.

“I remember when I first saw you, the scrawny, terrified boy with his bare chin and the ridiculous bald spot on the top of his head.” 

He lifted the covers for him and Athelstan slipped beside him, snuggling back into the comforting warmth, and Ragnar's embrace.

“I had every reason to be terrified. Your men slaughtered everyone I knew in front of my eyes.” Ragnar remained silent. His easy, lopsided smile faded, and the troubled expression was back on his face. “But you, you never enjoyed killing. Not the way most of your warriors do.”

“That may be true.” He said it with the tone he usually used when he said one thing, and was thinking about something else entirely. “But that's not really what spared your life that day.” He paused, raising his eyebrow cautiously. “What was that scratching noise?”

“Oh. I have a mouse.”

_“You have a mouse.”_

“For a while now, yes. It must be a shy one because it usually appears at night, but you're changing the subject.” Athelstan suppressed a yawn. “What is it, then?” 

“What was what?”

“That saved my life.”

“Oh, that. Curiosity. Simple as that.” He smiled. “And, your pretty face.”

“You've just said I looked ridiculous.”

“It was still a pretty face.” He placed a kiss to Athelstan's forehead. “I may have been infatuated by you from the very beginning. First I just wanted to have you in my bed and see how you look in pleasure, but then you've captured my...What did you say it is called? One's... soul?”

“Mmh.” 

“See, I am listening. Lagertha realized long before I did or you did, of course. She said she could tell from the way I looked at you.” He laughed curtly, and paused. His fingers drew lazy circles on Athelstan's bare shoulders as he gazed through the window, thoughtfully. “You have no idea how hard it is for me, to pretend we're just... friends. Not that they're not talking already. Sometimes.... I'm toying with the idea of proving them right and greeting you with a kiss in front of everyone.”

He paused again, but still no answer came. 

Curled around him, Athelstan was breathing evenly, his arm draped loosely over Ragnar's waist. He rarely ever managed to stay awake for long after, which, normally, Ragnar found highly amusing---now however, the silence, broken only by the soft little noises Athelstan made in his sleep, suddenly seemed unbearable. His thoughts became loud, impossible to ignore, and none of them brought him peace.

At some point, at dawn, he woke for someone fumbling at his trousers. Smiling to himself, he gently drew Athelstan's hand away, and made a mental note of teasing him about it later---the younger man murmured something in his sleep that made absolutely no sense at all, and turned to his other side. He did not wake, however, not even when Ragnar carefully laid the blankets across him and slipped out of bed.

***  
That day, Athelstan visited him in his quarters; he approached him smiling, not just with his lips but with his blue eyes as well, and it was as if the sun came up. Ragnar wondered briefly if he had never seen him more beautiful.

Athelstan's smile faltered only when he told him not to leave; he seemed...startled, lips parting in a silent question, as if the desperation in Ragnar's voice scared him as much as the thought of him leaving had scared Ragnar.

“I love you,” he added, words that never came easily on his mouth. Funnily enough, it was the first time he ever said it to anyone beside his children and Lagertha, and from the way Athelstan's face lit up, he knew he should have told him long before. Why hadn't he? For a moment, the younger man almost looked taken aback, as though he hadn't expected Ragnar to say that, and then the smile, brighter than ever, was back on his face.

Ragnar pulled him into his arms, for the last time, and held him tight, clenching on the fabric of Athelstan's tunic. He buried his face into his neck and breathed in the scent of the creamy, white skin. A small sigh escaped Athelstan's lips, and he pulled away a little, glancing over his shoulders a little nervously.

“I'm not expecting anyone,” Ragnar said. “If that's what you're afraid of.”

“No, it's just...” He trailed off. “I'll see you later?” he asked.

“Yes. You will.” He gave him an encouraging smile, which the younger man reciprocated. The top of his fingers grazed over Ragnar's forearm, the lightest of touch, and then he turned and left. His lover's gaze would not leave him until he was out of sight. 

The king wrapped his arms around himself, and exhaled; he only realized just then that his hands were trembling.

***  
Athelstan seemed small in his death; were it not for the pool of dried blood near his head, he lay there on his side, with his legs curled up, as if he had only been dreaming, waiting for his lover to put his arms around him. Candles surrounded the crucifix he used to pray to, like a halo; some of them burnt to the very end. The cross of his god towered above him, as relentless and unforgiving as ever, watching over the young man's lifeless body.

Ragnar bent down on a knee next to him, and touched the face he loved so much. Athelstan's skin--- always soft and warm beneath his fingers--- was cold. Ragnar forgot how to breath. He could not remember when he started to screaming, but apparently he had been. Lagertha found him slumped beside Athelstan's body, with his head in his lap, unable to let go, to speak, or stop himself from shaking.

He was vaguely aware of Lagertha asking him questions, but he did not have any answers.

“I loved him.” The words were out before he could stop them. 

“I know you did.” 

“Athelstan....he wasn't...he wasn't feeling safe here.” Ragnar turned away. “He wanted to leave Kattegat, this morning, but he stayed because I asked him to. I am the reason he's dead.”

“No.” Lagertha raised his voice. It was gentle, but firm. “It's not your fault, do you hear me?” She put her hand on Ragnar's shoulder. “He made a choice, and he chose to be with you.”

“I promised I'll protect him. Where was I when he needed me? I should've been with him.”

By the silence that followed his words, he knew Lagertha was thinking the same. No signs of a fight could be seen in the room. Athelstan's belongings were exactly the same place where he left them. It almost looked as though he did not even try to defend himself. Almost...and the realization struck him as a stab in the stomach.

_It does not matter where I go. What matters to me, is where you are going._


End file.
